I grasp at the air,
But you are quick to disappear,
No matter how fast my thoughts fly,
Your essence always fades out of my sight

I sit here trying to think, but in vain,
For each time an idea comes, it is quick to fly away,
An image, an idea comes to mind,
But soon it has vanished out of space and time

Just a sonnet, villanelle,  or haiku,
Even a simple ballad will do,
Something short, something trite,
As long as it rhymes it will be alright

An epic I'm afraid will take too long,
And I don't have the time to write a song,
I suppose I will have to settle for this,
And hope that nothing of this scribble is amiss